


Silentium Amoris

by Lassroyale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassroyale/pseuds/Lassroyale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean glimpses the weight of the future in Castiel's sad smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silentium Amoris

**Author's Note:**

> I tried for schmoop, but I think it comes off as decidedly bittersweet. Title is from the Oscar Wilde poem of the same name. This is for the hug we were all denied at the end of 5.04

  
There was a moment, the briefest space of time when invariably Castiel - well, his future self, at least - met Dean's eyes.

Everything faded into the background as he looked into the former angel's blue gaze and realized that he was suffocating beneath it. Something split within the very center of him, a gaping maw of anger and longing that shook itself sluggishly awake as he realized what he saw within the man's eyes: _hopelessness, resignation, and a sort of bleak desire that Dean felt fist tightly within his chest._

And too, perhaps strongest of all, was a helpless sort of love that was so deep, so profound, that Dean knew he could never begin to understand it. It was the kind of love that was felt with every breath, and god, he felt it there, death just on the other side of the fence, as he looked into the future through Castiel's mortal eyes.

Castiel gave him a small, very human smile, and sadness and surrender lurked in the curve of his lips. Dean wondered if the sound he heard was of his heart splintering beneath the weight of the other's wistful, heartbroken grimace.

He never got to say a proper goodbye, though, his future self stealing the option from him with a solid blow that knocked him out cold. Still, somewhere in the darkness of his thoughts, piercing the murky throb of unconsciousness, Dean felt a fleeting and soothing sensation; the feeling of someone's fingers as they brushed lightly against his face, from temple to cheek.

He awoke, alone, and the distant sound of gunfire was his herald to the sudden, irrational panic that seized him. As he stood and began to run towards the staccato roll of firing guns, he felt felt unshed tears collect in his eyelashes.

 *******

When Dean found himself back in the present, he felt unusually disoriented, his thoughts torn too many different ways to piece themselves fully back together. He placed a hand on his forehead as if trying to remember something, but whatever it was, was gone the instant Zachariah spoke. He turned, his body tense, and slipped easily into the mask of overconfidence and indifference. The anger, however, he didn't have to fake.

Dean felt the tug was he was backing up from the irate angel, his shoe catching on a snag in the carpet, causing him to lose his balance. He felt the heat of Zachariah's hand as it brushed by his face, and then he felt a rush of cool air on his skin. Dean inhaled reflexively, drawing in a deep lungful of crisp, night air. His heart began to slow to a more steady rhythm when he realized that the immediate danger was gone.

When he looked up he knew he would see Castiel. What he didn't expect, was the keen feeling of relief that flowed through him when he glanced into the angel's eyes. He saw Cas' trademark look of curiosity, staring back at him; and there, beneath, was an expression of loyalty and love undiminished. Perhaps it was unrecognized, but Dean now saw the truth of it.

Embarrassingly, he felt something rise within him, a matching echo of that emotion within Cas' eyes; a whisper of something far deeper from the future.

At first Dean only grinned and told Cas never to change, reaching out to clamp a hand over his shoulder. All at once, it seemed so inadequate a sentiment to what he felt beginning to bloom, this awareness he suddenly had that the angel - his angel - would follow him even to his own death.

Dean might have made a noise, he wasn't sure, but he found that he had pulled Castiel towards him and wrapped his arms around the other in a fierce and possessive embrace. He pulled the the angel flush to him, chest to chest, the fingers of one hand curled firmly against Cas' neck. His skin was unnaturally warm against the pads of Dean's fingers; he could feel the heat settle down into his bones. Overall, it wasn't an unpleasant sensation by any stretch.

The angel was stiff in his embrace at first; Dean could practically feel the bewilderment radiate through his ugly trenchcoat. Gradually, however, Castiel relaxed, and bit by bit the tension ebbed from him. Dean could feel it seep from his body, and he jerked, startled, when Castiel's breath ghosted across his neck in a soft, weary sigh. The angel sagged a little, his shoulders drooping, and he grasped at the back of Dean's jacket with same quiet reassurance of a small child clutching his mother's skirt.

And Dean felt fear and something far more delicate tumble in the pit of his stomach as he stood there on the empty street, feeling rather than listening to the steady thump of Castiel's borrowed heart. His own beat in erratic counter-measure as he tried to define what _this_ was, and failed, for something this profound, this _real_ was well out of his realm of comprehending.

It terrified him, but not as much as the knowledge of what could be, of what Castiel would become, if he didn't at least acknowledge what was forming between them. The question came down to this: could he love Cas enough to save him from falling; from following him to his demise?

As Dean shared this tenuous, quiet moment in the embrace of the angel - his angel - he thought that maybe he could.

(The End.)


End file.
